


Take All My Inhibitions

by Savrola



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Committed Relationship, Cute, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Polyamory, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savrola/pseuds/Savrola
Summary: The royal couple of Faerghus share a secret -- they are both mated to Margrave Gautier.  And the entire world may very well be about to find out.[Alpha!Dimitri/omega!Felix/alpha!Sylvain committed threesome, first chapter porn and then plot somewhere after that]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 59
Kudos: 331





	1. Chapter 1

"Alone? You can't honestly expect me to believe that," Sylvain scoffs, leans against the castle wall with a smug expression. Felix only heats up more, not realizing stomping his foot against the rug doesn't exactly lend him credibility.

The king is usually the one to jump to Felix's defense, but even now he laughs a little under his breath. "You have not spent a heat alone since -- what, since we were nineteen? Twenty?"

"I need it," Felix spat back. "Between the two of you, I never get any rest!" Sylvain dares to look scandalized. "If you aren't tag-teaming me, you're using my pheromones to knot each other until --"

Dimitri remains the only one of them with any decency, shushing him under his breath and glancing over his shoulder as a pair of omega servants shuffle away. It isn't a secret that the king and his queen have shared their bed before, but sharing a bed and sharing -- whatever it is they share with Sylvain ( _everything_ comes to mind) -- are two separate things. And nobody needs to have a conniption fit over that.

Felix looks about ready to share his fist when Sylvain leans in, inhales deeply, and grins a wicked grin. "C'mon, you can't possibly want to spend it all alone when you've got two gorgeous alphas right here for you."

The omega's sensibility is swiftly failing him, he visibly leans in, his lips like magnets to Sylvain's, before he pulls himself back and growls. Without another word he takes off for the bedchamber, already fiddling with his coat.

Sylvain makes to follow. Dimitri grabs the back of his collar and holds him fast with ease. "He said he wants to be alone," he huffs and the tone towards the end is some sort of disappointed.

"You have got to learn not to listen to everything he says," Sylvain counters, "Do you take it personally every time he says he hates you?"

Felix, shirtless and only having been in the bedroom for a moment, pokes his head out with a scowl. "Are you coming?"

The two alphas march after him -- someone else can run the kingdom in their absence.

\--

Sylvain, ever the gentleman, bows out to the washroom to wash his face and disrobe. With all the fuss the omega had been putting up, he'd never imagined that by the time he found his way back onto the bed Dimitri would have extracted Felix entirely from the rest of his clothes. They're parallel, the queen's back to his king's chest to allow him to lap a trail down his shoulder blades.

It never ceases to amaze how the heat so quickly removes the stick from Felix's ass (for favor of a new stick, _heh_ ) and replaces their stuffy, blushing omega with a whore who gladly hits his knees before his king -- and a certain redheaded knight, who falls onto his back to observe and run a palm gently over himself.

No need to be hasty. They have the next several days.

The scent in the air is heady and hot; Felix made his nest yesterday, there was no hiding that, but how he'd hidden how wet he was between the thighs for what had to have been the past half-hour was a mystery. Sylvain can almost taste the slick when he licks his lips, touches his thumb and forefinger under the head of his cock. 

From his spot propped up on his elbows, Felix looks up at him just in time for those eyes to squeeze shut. Dimitri mutters something profane under his breath as he slips inside and Sylvain is absolutely charmed by the sight -- though he does feel a twinge of sympathetic pain at the grimace the omega is sporting.

(Felix hadn't been wrong, the two alphas _do_ knot each other on the regular. And for all the gentleness Dimitri has, he is still goddess-blessed with an equine sized cock. And it's equine sized _without_ the knot.)

But judging from the groan Felix releases as the king bottoms out inside him, that isn't such a bad thing.

"You don't have to go so easy on him," the knight, from his pillowy perch at the head of the bed, laughs, "He's used to it."

Dimitri glares up at him even as he gently begins to slide back and forth, and shudders out a sigh. "He was just complaining of how rough we are to him."

"No, he was complaining that we wear him out. And I'm placing all of the blame for that on you." His free hand emphasizes this with a pointed finger before running through his hair. Felix doesn't stretch to agree, but he's already facedown as the king's thrusts grow faster, irregular.

Felix's scent is blooming all around them, enveloping them and drawing them in. Soon they'll be nothing but the lotus-eaters of legend, lazy and content to do nothing but fuck the life out of the omega between them and take short power naps in between. Felix bites the blanket as Dimitri's control slips further, encourages him with a shaky cry.

And there goes the last of the King of Faerghus' self-discipline. Heats have a way of bringing out the feral beast they'd found in Garreg Mach, the one Felix said he'd seen before -- and that beast is the one baring its teeth, the one who knots swiftly and puts tears in his mate's eyes with the pain it surely brings him. 

Sylvain kisses the corner of Felix's mouth. "You got your safeword, babe."

Felix nods.

"You okay?"

Another nod. Sylvain smiles -- _painslut._

The king is watching him. Not with a glare or with a growl, just watching. (And what is he to do but put on a show?) Dimitri's pink raised mate mark on Felix's shoulder is subjected to a lewd display, Sylvain's pink tongue widening to lap at it like a cat laps at milk, all the while returning that stare. Dimitri even dares to flush red somewhat, watches that tongue move further south to Sylvain's own mark which is lower on the shoulder, easier to hide. The knight touches, runs fingertips along the lean back, traces each vertebra's peak beneath pale skin, down past Felix's tailbone to where his two loves are joined. Dimitri hums, a deep rumbling sound of gratitude when his balls are cupped tight and he's finally kissed -- kinetically, deeply, with teeth. He himself can't help but touch as well, runs each thumb lovingly over the twin marks on either sides of the knight's neck. His. His omega's. Both.

"Fill him up, your majesty," Sylvain breathes against his lips, "Then it's my turn." The king's entire body twitches, balls shift up slightly to continue emptying themselves and they both shudder with delight.

Dimitri gasps for air like a man nearly drowned as the knot comes to a swift end (not quite a lotus-eater yet, the heat is still a bit weak) and he slips out naturally, comes back to reality to the sound of two sighs of relief. One of them might have been his own. "I'm -- sorry, Sylvain. I didn't even ask if you would like to go first." Suddenly weak he presses his hand to the bedspread and sprawls, spent for at least an hour. Felix, notably, stays where he is: ass in the air, his poor neglected cock peeking from beneath pink thighs. 

"Don't be ridiculous, your majesty," Sylvain tuts, lines himself up and offers Felix a moment to protest though he knows he won't, "You know I love sloppy seconds."

And he slides in, and _oh_ it's good.

Sylvain smirks -- he doesn't have an equine dick, but it's not bad. And he makes up for it.

Sure, the whole losing-virginities-to-each-other thing Felix and Dimitri did is nice. Romantic, even. But there is something to be appreciated about a lover with experience and skill; enough, even, that the mate mark Felix had put on his collarbone throbs as a reminder. He arches his back and slams up, not wayward and wild like the king but practiced, focused. Between the sounds of slapping skin Felix gasps, digs nails into the sheets. He's close.

Both of Sylvain's lovers are on him, around him, Dimitri's cum slicking them both and getting regrettably _everywhere_ and Felix's entire body shaking as his own orgasm approaches. Then it thunders up, and he bucks like an animal as Sylvain rides him through, grabs a jutting hip to hold him in place while he curses and then nearly wails into a pillow (strategically placed there, yes, by the king himself. Again, sense).

Felix goes nearly limp. His jaw is slack with appreciation, saliva already wetting the pillowcase.

With all the love a single eye can hold Dimitri looks between them both, and damn if the eternal player, bachelor, whore himself doesn't get a touch romantic. It could be the heat, him of course being the last to cum and the longest holding out -- or maybe it's the sweet, nearly timid look Felix gives him over his shoulder once sanity returns to him. Gently he regains a rhythm, his knot already aching at those copper-red eyes locking with his own. His knot swells, he grinds it hard, and between the extra lubrication and the stretching, he's inside before it knows it with a _pop._

Sylvain weaves a forearm around Felix's belly, pulls the omega back so he's in his lap and hums in his ear. "You see how perfectly we fit together? You're so good, babe." 

They're all heat drunk, starstruck, and as the originator Felix has it worst. His tongue peeks out from his mouth as he pants, beautifully, perfectly, and Sylvain can only watch in awe and lather appreciative spit at the nape of his neck. "You're so perfect, so gorgeous," sweet nothings, anythings in his ear are punctuated, again, with "You okay?"

Felix nods, slowly. Sylvain rubs a finger around his navel, laps at the long-scarred mate mark and they rest there, Felix content to be held up, until a couple of minutes pass just the same and, just as swiftly as the king, the knight's knot relaxes and they can separate. 

Ever prepared, Dimitri has had his arm extended for a while, inviting to both of them with all the room it offers. Felix gratefully takes his spot there. Sylvain grabs the king's long shed overcoat from its spot on the bedside table and tucks it under the omega's ass, sacrificing it for the sake of a somewhat-clean nest.

He considers cleaning himself up too, but instead flops beside his mates and yawns. "Now was it really that bad?"

"Hmph."

Dimitri laughs. "Let us rest. By tomorrow, I think we'll all be ready to go again. Felix, do you need me to call for anything while we are still coherent?"

Felix shakes his head. Quiet looms. And they all succumb to sleep.

\--

Day breaks, and in a strange turn of events Felix is the first one up. In spite of the king's words he is still coherent enough to shuffle to the washroom and draw a hot bath, though his uncharacteristically loud steps wake Sylvain up gently.

Dimitri is still far gone and peaceful, so he's content to keep their foreheads pressed together (without the living furnace that is their omega they huddled together for warmth subconsciously, their legs and arms entangled) and drift back to his dreams.

Then there is the sound of shattering ceramic, the tumbling of broken pieces across the washroom's marble. Sylvain sits up with a sour face, blinks and when no more sounds come he braves the cold of the room in his nakedness and tiptoes toward the door.

"Felix? Kitten, what's wrong?"

Nothing.

"You alright?"

He mustn't be. Because there's a teacup, of all things, broken on the floor. Felix is so stiff he's shaking, clutching a tiny unopened packet in his fingers.

"I --," the omega starts, and finds his mouth is almost too dry to continue at all, "I've never forgotten it before."

Sylvain blinks the sleep from his eyes and stares down at the packet:

_O-Line Brand Tea for Omegas  
Birth Preventative Formula_

" _Shit,"_ he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Twitter is [@LadySavrola](https://mobile.twitter.com/LadySavrola)
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment or kudo!


	2. Chapter 2

" _Don't_ tell me to calm down," Felix seethes, and completely in spite of their size difference Sylvain backs down with his hands up in surrender.

"No, really. It's not that big a deal!"

"Not a big deal?" As he backs into the bedchamber he hears Dimitri shifting and grumbling in bed. Felix doesn't seem to notice. 

"What's going on?" The king mumbles.

"Felix forgot to take his tea," Sylvain quips over his shoulder.

Dimitri yawns, "So take it now and come back to bed,"

"I can't just take it _now_ ," Felix hisses, "That isn't how it works, it has to be _before_. What do you think will happen if the Queen of Faerghus bears a redheaded pup, huh?" He turns to Sylvain. "Or, so we really can't deny it, one with a crest of Gautier?"

Sylvain shrugs, though that last line stings just a bit, as it was meant to, "Aside from my father high-fiving people in Hel? I don't know. Probably not much." 

The lack of concern in the room only makes the fire inside Felix burn hotter, the realization that even if everything goes wrong it would never hurt the alphas in the room -- not in the same, direct, actual growing-a-baby-in-your-body way that it would affect him, hits.

And that makes him even angrier.

Dimitri, still sleepy but deer-eyed and meek, raises his hand like a schoolboy. "My grandmother had red hair, maybe we could --"

"Get out! Both of you!"

"Come now love, it will be alright," Dimitri gets out of bed, opens his arms trying to invite the omega in -- but even with his heat-scent spiking Felix's anger is like oil on fire, exploding as he points to the door and, like scolded dogs, the alphas obey.

The king, not eager to further that rage but definitely eager to keep their decency as they are ejected, grabs a silk sheet out of the nest and covers himself with it; Sylvain grabs the other end and wraps it around his waist. The door slams.

And then they're in the hall, sheepish and dazed, and there's an alpha down the way sweeping who looks up and freezes when he meets their eyes.

"Uh, hey," Sylvain waves, "You, uh, mind not letting anyone into this wing for a while?"

Something like a confirmation comes from the servant.

Dimitri rubs his temples. "And send someone to fetch Lady Ingrid, please. She's probably in the stables." The alpha seems grateful to dart away and leave the two shivering to themselves. The king presses his forehead against the wood of the door with a sigh.

"What can we do?" Felix is moving around again inside the room, doing _what_ he can't know, but Sylvain feels the same ache in his chest, like he's swallowed hot tea and it's settling wrong just behind his heart, the need to soothe his omega pulling him to reach for the doorknob.

But then things are breaking in the room, from the sound of it more than just a teacup, and Sylvain reluctantly decides that some space may be safer for all involved. "My room is in the guest wing?" He finally offers, and it sounds less like a heroic solution than he thought it would.

"The guest wing," Dimitri scoffs, "That's on the far west side!"

"Hey, you wanted to be discreet. I never even keep anything in there, when I'm here I'm always in your room."

The war has been over for a long time, but Dimitri, as ever, clings to the awful habit of curling in on himself and becoming lost -- more than daydreams, his worries are like quicksand that hold him fast, and he welcomes them in with a sigh and a look so longing it might actually be able to see through the cherrywood.

Can he see Felix inside? Breaking things, stomping his heels like he always does when he's stressed?

Sylvain sees the darkness encroaching and tugs the sheet. "Come on," he whispers, "We can at least get started that direction."

Reluctantly, Dimitri pulls his head away from the door and follows after as the knight shuffles along.

They abandon the warzone of a bedroom and find peace, a surprising thing in the castle, as they move together, though Dimitri's hand remains stuck to his temple. "It wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for me," he finally mutters, "If he wasn't --" and he stops in his tracks, bites his cheek. "He never wanted to be a duke, much less a queen."

"Oh, I remember that whole debacle, don't worry," Sylvain chuckles, and tugs him along. Dimitri saunters after. "Come on. He'd be a wandering mercenary if he could, pissing in the woods and living off squirrel meat."

 _There's_ a smile, fond, even as Dimitri nearly lets the cover slip and expose the royal scepter, jumps to grab it in time as if it's something Sylvain hasn't seen (recently). "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"The fact is that we don't choose the lives we're given, your majesty," he says with emphasis and a grin, and Dimitri grumbles his discontent at the title. "And we don't choose the people we love either. But -- love and mateship are two different things, and he chose to mate us, too."

They pause when the first corner comes and Sylvain takes the lead to press his back to the wall and slowly peer over the side. There's no one there, so he continues, dragging Dimitri who is still listening thoughtfully.

"Mateship comes with conditions. Consequences. And he accepted those. Part of being mated to you is being queen, whether he likes it or not."

"Why do you never show this wise side of you to anyone else," Dimitri thinks aloud and earns a smile.

"I dunno what you're talking about, I get called a wise-ass all the time."

"Very funny."

"Yeah, I know." The effects of inhaling the scent of an omega in heat all night become apparent once the adrenaline of again being caught in the line of fire dies down. Dimitri's breath is hot and deep, his lips barely parted as they stumble along together. Sylvain licks his lips as he pauses at another corner, turns to look back and catches sight of a curling dirty blond happy-trail, and it doesn't matter how often he sees it, it's just _tempting_ every time.

"Hey," he murmurs once the coast is clear, and they continue, "When we get back to the room you want me to ride you?"

Dimitri is all scandalized schoolboy, clutching the silk to himself with a huff. "This is serious! We have more to worry about, don't you think --"

Suddenly comes the sound of footsteps, rapid, angry, and they both freeze. At the end of each resounding click is a jingle, long and spiraling out after, and it sounds like silver spurs --

"Ingrid!" Sylvain waves as a blonde head appears at the end of the hall. "Wow, are we glad to see you." She halts, looking at them both naked and only thinly covered with a scowl.

"Is this some alpha thing I'm not meant to understand?" 

(Poor Ingrid lived a childhood stuck between two alphas and one moody omega and learned a long, long time ago that she, as a beta, was not meant to understand many things.)

"Something like that, I guess," Sylvain shrugs, then jumps when she bends at the waist to lean in with narrowed green eyes.

"By all four saints," she whispers under her breath, as if someone in the giant hallway might hear. She glances back and forth at them, at the two mate marks on either sides of their necks, in awe. "I suspected, but. All three of you?"

And suddenly they both feel even more naked. Dimitri coughs. "Yes. That's what this is all about, really."

"Can you get us to my quarters and we can talk about it?"

Ingrid, with a look like a long-suffering mother, nods.

\--

"It's not a big deal."

"It's really a very big deal!" Ingrid shoots back as she slams the door to Sylvain's room behind her. "Felix is right. There are plenty of rumors going around about you three as it is, but this could turn into a real problem."

"We've been so discreet," Dimitri sighs.

"What, you think nobody notices that Margrave Gautier spends twice as much time here as he does in his own territory?" Ingrid's eyes again rove over them and she groans. "If you three were going to choose to do something this reckless, I would have at least thought you'd get my help."

"We don't choose who we love, Ingrid," parroting Sylvain, Dimitri sounds like something out of a romance novel but with all the earnestness the pages can never pull off -- it's why Sylvain never reads paperbacks any more, and yet his mate mark is on the king's neck. Their fingers interlock, subtle, and Ingrid's scolding dies in her throat.

"Who else knows?"

"Just Dedue," the king replies, and Sylvain chuckles a little at the memory.

("Of course we can tell Dedue," Felix had said and grabbed a handful of shampoo from the jar. "If Dimitri said 'I want to mate another boar like myself', Dedue would reply 'very good, your majesty. Would you prefer spotted or solid color?'" and he and Sylvain cackled like they did when they were kids while Dimitri sulked behind his towel.)

Ingrid inhales deeply into her chest, breathes in the mounting stress her trio of idiot almost-brothers have her in again, and exhales with the words of her knight's vow on the tip of her tongue. "I have a plan." She says finally, clasping her hands together.

"Oh thank the goddess," Sylvain groans, and he isn't insincere.

"I'll talk to Felix."

"Very good," the king says.

"I can get him to calm down but it's probably best if you two stay out of his room until the heat is over."

"You couldn't pay me to go in there right now," and Dimitri nods his assent.

"And then we wait."

And then there's silence. The alpha pair stares like a dumbstruck opera audience, unsure if it's truly the end of the show.

"That's your plan? Wait?"

"Yes," Ingrid huffs. "We aren't even sure if he will get pregnant. It was only one night, after all, how much damage could you have -- wait, don't answer that," she gives Sylvain a stern look when he looks ready to open his mouth. "If it didn't stick, there's no harm and you three can keep hiding this scandal waiting to happen until some other time."

The quiet persists, each man sorting through his own thoughts. Sylvain fiddles with his fingers, popping a knuckle here and there. 

Dimitri bites his nails. "What if it did? What will we do, Ingrid?" He finally asks, and the air in the room all becomes heavy at once.

"That's beyond me," Ingrid crosses her arms. "We'd have to send for the professor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Twitter is [@LadySavrola](https://mobile.twitter.com/LadySavrola)!
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment or a kudo! 💙


	3. Chapter 3

"This is horse shit," Sylvain says to his oatmeal. There's a pause before Dimitri slides a small jar and a sympathetic look at him across the table.

"It's better with walnuts in it." He says, and Sylvain groans.

_It's been 4 fucking days and he hasn't come out. What do you think he's doing, hiding? We can't just keep hovering around. Should we go in there? Does he hate us? How were we supposed to know he didn't take it, is he going to have a complete breakdown? What if he's right, what if there's no way we can deny it and the entire kingdom riots --_

Is what he would have liked to say -- but he just dashes a sprinkle of walnuts into his cereal and takes another bite. It does make the oatmeal better, but does nothing for the anxiety in his belly.

Dimitri must have employed mind readers at one point or another, because a servant appears at the head of their table, bows lowly with an unnecessary flourish and says "The queen has requested the presence of his royal majesty and the margrave."

The somewhat-better bowl of oatmeal nearly flies off the table as Sylvain hits his feet and takes off in a jog, Dimitri flinging his chair back and running after him.

The bedroom looks like a battlefield with no bodies; the curtains are torn, the bed is unmade and a mess, even the bits of China emblazoned with the crest of Fraldarius still lay scattered in pieces around the bathroom.

And Felix is completely absent, in all but scent.

As if they are indeed on a battlefield they both freeze, their eyes scanning every wall. Scenting is useless; the musky scent of their mate and the stinging smell of angry, afraid, stressed-out omega is so heavily smeared on every surface that there's no telling where or when it went. 

Each of them jumps when the servant comes and stands in the doorway, wringing his hands, and murmurs "The Queen is in the training grounds."

\-- Of course he is.

They go together again but share no words. Sylvain tries hard and thinks up a couple of little jokes, awkward though they might be comforting, but the desire to speak at all dies in him once they're rushing down the stone stairs, each taking them two at a time until their soles hit the dirt of the grounds, hard and packed down with thousands of steps and falls.

And Dimitri realizes that he doesn't remember the first time he ever laid eyes on Felix -- they were both infants -- but he wonders briefly if he was as awestruck in that fateful moment as he is now.

Felix is still a little flushed, having left his nest a tad early -- days of writhing in bed alone have left his muscles weak, his breathing harder than usual with the effort of swinging his sword. He grits his teeth through the struggle, breathes out through flared nostrils, and strikes the straw dummy again.

Sylvain, regrettably, cannot muster up happy memories when he sees his mate like this.

He sees Felix with his head in his hands at Garreg Mach, bent at the waist and trying not to sob. His first heat had sucked the life out of him then, kept him from eating for 5 long days. It's the first time he'd been able to leave his room and he'd stumbled to Sylvain's, not Dimitri's, not Ingrid's, but _his_ , and he'd collapsed in his arms and let himself be carried to the bed.

"I hate this," he'd said through grit teeth, "I wish I'd never been born."

Sylvain dared to rub his hand along his spine, apologizing with his touch and not his words. "Because you're an omega?"

"Omegas are weak," he seethed. "I'm not weak."

"No," Sylvain had said, "No, you're not."

Felix turns to look at them then. The bags under his eyes are dark and sunken, the remnant of sleepless nights, but the copper-red irises shimmer regardless like two perfect glasses of dark whiskey. Sylvain thinks that maybe he can see tears welling in the corner of those glasses, like ice cubes shifting as they melt in that warmth.

They approach him together, Dimitri as always with an arm out to pull him in, and Felix throws his sword on the ground (uncustomary, for the one always talking about treating your swords well) but in spite of this he squares up into a battle pose, legs spread, on his toes. His fists are clenched at his side. Dimitri and Sylvain both halt, equally out of fear and curiosity. Sylvain puts his hands up to surrender like a dog flashing its belly.

Felix looks at Sylvain. And if anyone else on the planet could say "I love you," like he does, like it's an accusation -- _you really have no right to make me feel like you do_ \-- Sylvain can't imagine who it could be. Nobody else can bring the dopey smile to his lips, can love with the ferocity and tenderness of a wild cat grooming its mate and growling all the while.

Dimitri crosses his arms, shifts his weight to one leg, and there's a hint of a schoolboy smile on him, too, when Felix rolls his eyes and stares him down. "You too, you idiot," and breathes _obviously_ under his breath as his thumb rolls over the ring on his finger.

"I'm sorry," Sylvain finds himself saying, and he's scratching the back of his head and inspecting the training ground's dirt floor. "If it wasn't for me, this wouldn't be such a problem, would it?" Of course the queen is expected to bear children, and of course they're expected to be blue-eyed, blond-haired Blaiddyd crest bearers, as they have been for years. His dick, as always, has thrown a wrench in the gears.

Dimitri hugs him first, presses his face into red hair and inhales, and between their bodies wriggles the bony form of Felix, who doesn't extend his arms but is content to be pulled in and squeezed by them. "Don't be stupid," he says, and Sylvain looks down at him, "I didn't --"

 _Want any pups to begin with,_ he finishes without saying anything. Though they all realize on their own how counterintuitive that is when he's mated to the king.

"We're all in this together," Dimitri says firmly, and Felix peers up at him. The copper whiskey of his eyes is like rum now, sweet and intoxicating and deceptively mild, and Sylvain kisses the temple above them.

"His majesty is correct."

"Please, Sylvain," Dimitri groans.

\--

Dimitri's hand is on its secret sweet spot again, resting with reverence on the skin beneath Felix's bellybutton. He can only dare to do this when Felix is fast asleep (and he thankfully sleeps like a dead man, having been caught up in the effort of paperwork and pretending everything is normal all day) and once the omega lets out a soft snore he traces little circles, plays absently and lets his mind wander.

"How long has it been?" He whispers, though there's no chance he could wake him. Sylvain has been watching them secretly, likely daydreaming the same dreams Dimitri has -- of a pouty omega with a little belly bump and all the pampering they could unleash on him.

"-- three weeks, I guess. Well, three weeks yesterday." He finally says once he snaps out of it.

"If something was going to happen, would we know?" Surely he'd be vomiting, or complaining of swollen ankles or any number of things by now. Wouldn't he?

Sylvain frowns, and turns back to the book he abandoned in his lap. "I'm not sure."

Dimitri sighs. It's neither his nor Sylvain's area of expertise, though he himself has had far more difficulty keeping his mouth shut and keeping out of the library. Rumors spread like sickness in the palace, and if anyone catches sight of him flipping through a book on pregnant omega care -- or Goddess forbid, child care, it would be the end of peaceful living for him.

"The earliest symptoms can appear is two weeks from conception," Sylvain reads off carefully, "But each omega and each pregnancy is different. Some omegas may show little or no symptoms until later in their term."

"Knowing our luck, that would be the case." 

Felix turns in his sleep, his fingers twitching to grab what is probably a dream-sword. He finally rolls to face Dimitri.

"That would be my cue to go to sleep," the king sighs.

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Sylvain says, and puts the dog-eared book to the side. "Maybe it won't stick."

"The professor always told us to prepare for the worst, but expect the best. That is what we should do."

"Yeah," Sylvain presses his forehead to the back of Felix's neck and scoots in, "It won't stick."

Felix wakes before the sunrise the next day to vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert I seriously still have no idea how this baby is gonna come out. Someone suggested fraternal twins and MAN AM I TEMPTED --
> 
> Also next chapter the professor shows up.
> 
> My Twitter is [@LadySavrola](https://mobile.twitter.com/LadySavrola)  
> Please consider leaving a comment or a kudo! 💙


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory, a lot of cheesiness.
> 
> I realize the more and more of this I write that it's lame, out of character self-indulgence and I legit don't care a bit. Love it.

"Your majesty," and he'd let his head rest on Dimitri's shoulder, "You surprise me."

Dimitri had never consumed so much alcohol in his entire life, and he was handling it poorly. Sylvain wasn't even Margrave yet, at least not as his father clung pathetically to life, but there he was wondering if he, in his own state of world-wobbling inebriation, could carry the weight of the king to bed all by himself.

The hall had been packed full when they arrived hours ago to feast and celebrate something or other, and by comparison the place had become downright dead. There was a duchess down the way passed out on her empty plate, and even the servants, deciding the mess was best saved for tomorrow, had evacuated and left the nobles to fend for themselves. All that was left was Dimitri, leaning on him, hiccuping cutely and eyeballing the rest of the wine in the bottle like a whore eyeballs good dick.

"Let's get you to your Queen, your majesty," Sylvain had gotten up with a grunt, the stone floor moving beneath the soles of his feet like ocean waves _by the Goddess that was good vodka._

"Oh, Felix," Dimitri had muttered, as if he was remembering suddenly that he had a mate at all.

"Yes, Felix," Sylvain said back. "And if he's still awake he's gonna be pissed that you're as drunk as you are, so you should pray he's asleep." An arm slung under Dimitri's armpits, one heave that amounted to nothing and finally another got the King of Faerghus to his feet. He wobbled from the balls of his feet to his tiptoes for a moment and looked ready to vomit. With an affectionate sigh Sylvain ruffled his hair, and then swiftly found himself pinned to the wall.

The first time Dimitri kissed Sylvain, he missed. He instead found his lips in the clean red beard he'd been growing and sloppily decided to run with it. Felix liked it when he left kisses like stepping stones on the way to his mouth, so he started to make a trail -- and then there was a hand gripping his collarbone, just a hair shy of being firmly around his neck and well into the territory of a threat. Sylvain looked up at him with a sneer.

"You had better not be fucking around behind Felix's back, your majesty," he said quietly, "Or we're about to have a really big problem."

"He's alright with it," Dimitri slurred, and tried to tend to that beard again, having found its roughness against his lips pleasant. That hand tightened.

"I have a hard time believing that," Sylvain said, and his teeth were bared, "He trusts you. Of all the people in the world you got _Felix_ to trust you, and now you're going to betray him like this?"

"It's not _betrayal!_ " and when he was pushed he stepped obediently back, though his weight alone would have allowed him to stay on top of Sylvain all night if he'd desired. "It's because it's you. He likes you. Too." Dimitri's shoulders had slumped a little, he inched a little closer to vomiting, and Sylvain simply stood stock still like a buck before a hunter.

" _What?_ "

"Go ask him yourself," Dimitri sighed and stumbled back. Out of instinct Sylvain grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, and with the momentum that gave him, set off for the royal chambers.

Dimitri landed against the door and fell forward the moment he opened it, with all the grace cherry-infused vodka could give a person. To his credit he managed to shuffle forward, kicked his leg out and then turned to land on his shoulder by a narrow margin -- Sylvain was grateful for that at least. If the king showed up to his morning meetings with a busted lip, questions would be raised.

Felix glanced up from the book he'd been reading by candlelight but seemed unsurprised, turned the page before looking back to it. Sylvain stood in the doorway, panting, waiting for the beautiful outrage he'd come to appreciate so much to arrive.

There was a moment of dead silence. It made itself a question once it went on long enough, and with a grimace the Queen shut his book. "What is it."

"He kissed me." Sylvain pointed to Dimitri, who still lay on his back on the floor rubbing his aching shoulder.

"So you're here to tattle, now?"

"What -- _yes_ ," nothing was going the way he thought it would go, his mind going over what he'd said as if he might have said something wrong, "He just. Kissed me! You two are mated, and you don't even care? What the hell, Felix?"

Felix's eyes flit down to the foot of the bed. "Really, Dimitri. You don't have any subtlety at all, do you?"

"He didn't believe me," Dimitri growled, "He said I was going behind your back!"

"Yes, when you go kissing people out of nowhere it tends to look like that." Felix rubbed the growing headache from his temple, "Sylvain, just. Come here."

Neither the King nor Queen did the whole 'talking about feelings' thing that well, but Dimitri, Sylvain would find out later, had been the more eager to initiate contact to begin with (even if the sheer amount of liquid courage he'd required to go through with it mucked everything up anyway). Sylvain obeyed, stepped to the Queen's bedside like a scolded child and sighed into his wordless kiss with sweet, joyous understanding. Dimitri, still clumsy, got to his feet and clung to him and pressed more kisses to his jawline.

\---

Sylvain wakes in their bed, alone, and damns himself for not getting to the good part before doing so. (They hadn't even fucked that night, having consumed enough alcohol to drown a horse between himself and the King, but when he snuggled up between them and felt one hand slide into either of his own, that -- yes, that was the good part.)

He rolls over and asks the Goddess to let him sleep another ten minutes.

And it is, surprisingly, the Goddess who comes in person to deny him.

Sort of.

At the foot of their bed is the professor, arms folded over one another in a weird origami taking the form of deja vu -- he can't recall how many times the ancient stone of his room at Garreg Mach had seen this exact scene: Dimitri, Felix and the professor, or any combination thereof, waiting for him to wake after the last of their efforts between shaking him and shouting had failed.

(Because if Felix sleeps like a fresh corpse, Sylvain sleeps like a skeleton. At least you get a small chance of being able to wake Felix.)

Sylvain sits up in bed only to jump when the cool air hits his crotch and reminds him that he is very much naked under the covers. "Uh, do you mind, professor?"

"You don't need to be clothed for this," she shrugs, ever a foreigner to custom.

"Look professor, I'm flattered, but three really is a crowd and we already fill up the bed --"

" _Sylvain!_ " Dimitri scolds, and then it's really like old times. "The professor is going to tell us if, ah," and he glances to the door, finds it ajar and amends that lest someone hear, "If Felix is really pregnant."

Felix finds a spot on the edge of the bed and sits there gingerly, still a little wobbly with what Sylvain recognizes as his morning sickness. His legs dangle over the edge and the professor sits beside him and sets to work scanning over him, her fingertips glowing soft faith-magic white all the while.

"You've been vomiting for two weeks?"

"Every morning."

"Does your chest hurt?"

Felix furrows his brow, thinks for a moment, "Yes. Sometimes.

Finally her fingers rest on his belly, the lights turning to gentle pulses like signals sent out beneath his skin. Sylvain had wondered to himself how Dimitri and Felix could be holding out hope it was some mysterious 2 week stomach bug and yet in spite of himself he finds his body bent forward, leaning in as if he could understand whatever gentle white magic the professor is using on Felix.

"Yes, there's something in there."

"Let's hope it's a tapeworm," Felix grumbles.

Byleth sits back and sighs, "Alright, there's a human in there."

As if the ranks of his spies extend to the spiders on the walls, Claude somehow knows it's the perfect time to enter then, swings the door open (and Dimitri immediately stands to usher him in and shut it again) and strides in. He's dressed simply and modestly, a relief from the royal and religious garb he and his mate respectively have to wear. Over the top of his golden embroidered tunic is a baby sling containing an excited, squirming infant. Its skin is a sweet caramel brown, a match to its father, and a mop of messy brown curls nearly hides the shock of green-blue eyes that peer out at all the excitement.

Sylvain leaps out of bed. "Cyrus!"

The baby squeals its delight and reaches its hands forward to grasp the air in Sylvain's direction -- Claude puts his hand up, eyes averted.

"Look, Sylvain. You're a friend, and obviously Cyrus' favorite, but can you please get some clothes on before you hold my son?" Sylvain pauses, then at the jog of the professor's laughter scrambles to find his breeches from the night before off the floor. He slips them and what is clearly Dimitri's shirt on and scoops the baby out of the sling. Claude manages to look only mildly jealous at the joy on the infant's face as he's bounced and Sylvain coos at him. 

"Look at my big boy! You're getting fat on all that yummy Almyran food, aren't you?"

"He's still on milk, actually," the professor says, "He has no desire to get off of it."

"If I had your luscious chest available to me, I'd stay on it at all -- _ow_!" Claude's normal easy smile is still in its usual spot, just pulled taut on top of grit teeth as he brings his hand back to his side.

"That's my mate, you obnoxious ass." Cyrus giggles while Sylvain rubs his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Old habits die hard, sorry."

The others in the room continue on, both used to Sylvain's antics and a little glad he finally got rebuked for them. "I had no idea Sylvain was so good with babies," Dimitri runs a hand along Felix's side and earns an anxious shiver for his trouble.

"Of course he is," Felix huffs, "He's a child himself."

"This is not just any baby," Sylvain holds the giggling bundle to his chest, still rocking him, "Cyrus and me have a bond."

"At the summit last winter he just kept crying and crying," Byleth says with a shrug, "He's more fussy than Suri ever was, and he'd never been in cold like that before. Before I knew it, Sylvain swooped in and he wouldn't stop smiling."

"He's a baby whisperer," Claude snorts.

Sylvain finally has the foresight to glance at his mates. Felix isn't stupid, and from the first time he'd thrown up he had been sure of his fate -- but there's something strangely resigned about him now, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes focused on the floor. Dimitri has been murmuring quietly to Byleth, just as guilty of ignoring him as Sylvain is.

Felix is so out of the moment that he nearly jumps when Cyrus is placed in his arms. The boy is eager to sit up on his own, having just acquired the muscles to do so, and he fusses and adjusts himself for a moment while the omega simply stares at him. Cyrus, without the propensity for cowardice on either side of his family tree, stares sternly back up at him.

"Go on, bounce him a little. He loves that." Sylvain says, and Felix makes the awkward attempt to. Cyrus is dissatisfied, and says so with a pout.

Even in their academy days Felix had been the hardest to reach, Byleth thinks. He wouldn't hardly let her speak to him without sparring themselves into a sweat first, and even then he closed himself off, sequestered away his emotions in favor of scoffs and half-truths. The King and Margrave had done such a good job unraveling him in recent years that she had hoped he might accept the news more readily, and yet again when Felix is face-to-face with his future, literally, he clams up as tight as he did back then. She sits beside him, presses her fingertips to his shoulder and then, when he doesn't move away, continues to put her palm on him and rub in soothing circles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She spares a look to her mate, the flash of her expressions like a language only he will ever speak, and he gives an extravagant bow and makes again for the door. "Gentlemen, let's see about lunch, huh?"

Sylvain clears his throat, ruffles up Felix's carefully done hair -- Dimitri carefully pets it back down, and together they depart, leaving the two omega adults and one alpha infant alone.

"I thought I'd -- feel something," Felix says finally.

Byleth leans back on the bed, lips pursed, and hums in thought. "When I told you?"

"Yes," Felix says softly, and holds Cyrus a little closer in some sort of apology. "I thought I'd be overjoyed, or something. People say it's the best moment of your life."

"Meh," Byleth grunts, "I've had better." He gives her a _look_ , and she laughs. "No, really. We fought a war, after that raising little ones is boring."

Felix looks back to Cyrus, sees his grimace distort into the beginnings of a sob before Byleth takes him and unceremoniously plops him on her belly. He curls up tight and grows quiet again. "You aren't bad with children, Felix," she thinks out loud. "The orphans at Garreg Mach used to love you."

"That's not it," Felix huffs, and his mind is a whirlwind, "I just doubt I'll be a good parent."

He can feel her looking at him, and he turns and gives her a firm glare. "It's a little late for that now," she says, "But if you approach parenting like you approach every other challenge in your life, you'll be fine."

Motherhood has been good to her; even when her nest of students was steadily growing in the old days she exuded calm composure, but now she is radiant, bathed in daylight. And he cannot help but catch a little of her certainty, as foolish as he feels for letting it in his head, that maybe it won't all go to shit. "You should hope Sylvain ends up the father," she finally says, "You'll never have a restless night with that one on your team."

"I think we decided we're going to raise it evenly, three ways. That's why Dimitri sent for you, we need your… wisdom."

"And my blessing, I'm sure that won't hurt," she says.

"For the neverending storm of idiots that's about to come into the castle, yes." He relaxes and lays beside her on the bed, inhaling the smell of his two mates through his nose and tasting them on his tongue. "If we can get a banner of your blessing made with 'so fuck off' embroidered on it already, that would save us a lot of time."

"I'll look into it," she says with a nod.

\--

"Papa," Princess Surica sits in her father's lap for lunch by virtue of her own insistence and everyone else's reluctance to deny her. "I don't like Faerghus food."

Claude sighs, " _Azizam_ , you had one bite. That doesn't mean you don't like any of it."

Through a mouthful of food Sylvain stops him, "No no, she's right. We can't really compare to Almyran food, nobody here knows how to use spices."

"Papa, I want dessert," she says, her face as stony and stern as her mother's, and Felix bites back a smile -- Surica is the spitting image of her mother, and where many omega children gladly fall into their roles early and become meek, submissive things, she walks with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. The fact that she has the master strategist himself, the wily king of Almyra wrapped around her finger like a pathetic dog is just an added bonus. Claude reaches for his roll, and his daughter shoves their shared plate away. "Dessert!" She cries, and a pair of servants dash for the kitchen.

Once she's finished adjusting little Cyrus under her blouse and he's set to eating his lunch, Byleth shoves a roll into her mouth. "So as far as breaking the news to the people goes, you have to consider your strategy."

_Here we go again_ , Felix groans to himself, and thinks to himself that they should have done a better job keeping the two most single-minded strategists in Fodlan away from each other.

"I guess I'm not as well acquainted with custom in Faerghus," Claude says, and frowns down at the peach sorbet that his daughter begins devouring the moment it's placed in front of her. Once the last servant is gone, he continues, "In some nations, the queen having a baby that obviously isn't the king's would get them thrown in a nunnery at best." He dips his finger in the ice and licks it off, "And Felix, your house is popular but you don't have the advantage of being royal. If the roles were reversed and you were a Blaiddyd, you could at least argue that a child born to you out of matelock still carries royal blood."

Byleth hums. "You could try to play it off as Dimitri's, regardless. So long as it doesn't have a Gautier crest, nobody can prove anything."

"That's a gamble though, dear," Claude says. "The kingdom will still be suspicious even if it comes out just redheaded, which is quite a strong possibility. I've seen your family portraits, Gautier."

Sylvain rolls his eyes and remembers the grand family reunion balls his father used to throw when he was a child -- the only heads that didn't have the Gautier Crimson were due to marriage, and those were quickly amended by the creation of hoards of crimson children.

"What if it isn't born out of matelock?" Byleth adjusts Cyrus against her shoulder and pats his back. "That way Felix's honor wouldn't be threatened."

"The odds are one in two," Dimitri says with a sigh, "Unless there's something I'm forgetting?"

Felix groans and hides his face behind a hand.

"No, I mean. You three are mated in all but name, aren't you?"

The three look between each other sheepishly before all quickly nodding.

"Then make it official," she says, and bites into her roll again with a smile, chews loudly around her words, "Get mated, and then no matter who the father is it won't be out of matelock."

"You say that like it's so simple," Dimitri sighs, "But have you ever seen a three-way mateship ceremony?"

"I've never even heard of one," Sylvain focuses on his lunch.

"And that still doesn't fix the issue of inheriting the throne," Claude says. "If the baby is a child of Gautier and Fraldarius, inheriting the throne that rightly belongs to the Blaiddyd line is asking for rebellion."

"If it's clearly Gautier, it'll inherit the Margrave title. And if it's clearly Blaiddyd, it will be a prince or princess." Byleth waits for one, two heartbeats for protests, and when none come she smiles. "And either way you'll get the approval of the church. Pass the rolls?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it isn't that simple lol. But it's alright, Felix can handle himself.


	5. Chapter 5

If there is one thing Princess Surica of Almyra loves more than desserts and her father, it's playing swords.

Dimitri and Sylvain had chastised him when he'd gifted her a wooden toy sword for her fifth birthday, told him she was too young, too small.

As it turned out, she was neither of those things. And as per her mother, she lived with that sword in her hand until the day it broke in two -- and as with every other one of her toys, it was immediately replaced.

So when she slipped easily out of her parents' bed in the guest wing and ran to find Felix it should have been expected. Of course he was already at the training grounds, and this she knew because her spirit was the same as her mother's -- which was the same as his. She waited in the shadows, arms crossed, and observed his movements: the dance he made with an invisible partner, the steps, the timing, and with glee, the jump out of his skin when she yelled "Felix!" and when he turned to look at her she grinned and asked, "Can I practice with you?" She needn't have asked.

"Of course."

She's been as much her mother's student in her few short years as Felix had been in his youth -- her single-minded focus, her precision as she steps back and dodges an invisible attack is an echo of the archbishop in her earlier days, a creature built from deadly grace. She's better with her facial expressions, though; that's another curse he shares with her mother. Never a smile at the right time. Never a laugh on cue. None of them were built to lead nations and yet they'd found themselves each a Queen, a Princess and and the head of the church (and also a Queen).

"Bring your elbow in a little, you'll have a better reach that way."

"Okay," she says, and the fire in her eyes is something to behold. A jab, jump to the side, another jump, and she stumbles over her own feet and falls on her side. Felix, never one to dote, steps towards her in his own time, his sword swaying at his side while she pouts up at him. "I _hate_ losing," she says. So there's a thread of Claude in her, then -- the disappointment in her eyes is self-inflicted, cross, not at all the calm determination Byleth would cook up.

The Queen kneels before her with a bitter smile. "Yeah, me too. So let's try again."

She stands on her own, and then steps back when her eyes catch someone in the shadows of the grounds, watching from the sidelines. It isn't someone she recognizes; she hides behind Felix's cloak.

"It is fascinating to see you so tender, for once in your life," says the alpha.

"Lord Osian." Felix says, and practically spits up disgust.

Lord Osian of House Rowe is a tall, broad man. His forehead is creased with wrinkles and he isn't well-muscled, for he neither works nor fights. It's said that he has not trained since his academy days, a strange thing in Faerghus noble culture, but in spite of this the wideness of his body naturally makes him take up more space than he should. Felix feels the omega child at his back and decides it may be time for a lesson:

Cowering before alphas never did any omega any good.

He steps forward to meet the advancing man with his eyes like slits. "I'd prefer to spend some time alone with my God-daughter."

"Of course, of course," Osian says, and does his best impression of a palace-crawling yes man, "I only wished to see you, your grace, so that I may congratulate you."

Felix frowns. "For what?"

"On your pup, of course."

There's an icicle lodged in Felix's throat, his lesson caught suddenly at its end as he halts on shaking feet. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm certain you do," says the alpha, "I heard the news only yesterday, but I was overjoyed for it. Certainly, the entire kingdom will be as well --" he clasps his hands, sighs, "What a blessing it is, to know a delightful little prince or princess will grace the palace halls soon."

Felix never wanted to be a Queen. He never _trained_ to be a Queen. A physical threat he could outmaneuver, outmatch, destroy any day, but battles with words and wits found him in strange territory better suited to Sylvain or anyone else.

Without even trying, Lord Osian has the advantage, and his triumphant smile when Felix pauses looks like the perfect _king me_. "I dare to even take such joy in thinking of the child's appearance," he admits, "Will it look like his majesty? Blonde hair? Blue?" 

_Don't say it, don't --_

"Perhaps it will be red."

"Certainly anything is possible," Felix chokes out finally.

"With a Queen like you," Lord Rowe says, "It certainly is."

He's gone. There's only aching, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, and Surica grasps his hand as tightly as she can. "That guy was a jerk," she says, and Felix coughs out a breathless laugh.

"Yeah, he was."

\--

"Did he say anything threatening to you?" Claude leans over the table, his unmade hair hanging in his eyes, "If he was threatening to you, we can totally have him charged."

"I'll have him hanged for treason," Dimitri growls, the flash of the beast peering up from the still blue water of his eyes. Byleth tugs at a strand of his hair, gives him the eyebrow-raised warning look only a mother can make, and he backs down to face his tea. "He -- had no right to say that to you."

"It's the truth," Felix sips his tea, too hot though it is, and relishes the trail it makes down his throat, something to feel in the pit of his stomach aside from the anxiety that comes with _socializing,_ "I just don't know how he found out."

"It's gotta be the servants," Sylvain grumbles. "One of them must be working for him."

"I'll fire them all," Dimitri says, "For spreading rumors about our Queen."

"You can't say it's a rumor if there's a possibility it's true," Claude sighs. "What this does, though, is fuck with the timeframe. Now we have to make the announcement, quickly, that your mateship is to go through."

"If we had postponed it, we could have said that you delivered early once the baby came -- therefore quashing any ideas about you making pups out of matelock." Byleth chews, pausing only to hand something off of her plate to the princess at her side.

"What ever happened to you being the pope and quashing any complaints of acts against the goddess?" Felix hisses.

"I may be the bishop, but I'm only the _Queen_ of Almyra. I can tell them what the goddess is alright with, but if they still have their own qualms about it, the three of you will need to stand up and answer. It's _your_ country, and _your_ stupid customs."

" _By_ ," it's Claude's turn to be alarmed at his mate, scratching his nose a bit too long and pointedly at her to be a simple itch. "C'mon."

"No, the customs _are_ stupid," Sylvain interjects. "Really stupid."

"It's fine," Felix says, and shoves his plate away. "I'm going to train."

From underneath greasy bangs, his forehead resting in his palm, Dimitri looks at his former professor and grimaces. "Should he really be allowed to do that in his state?"

In the sing-songy voice he's been using to make the bits of ham dance on his plate and make Surica laugh, Sylvain continues, "What, are you gonna try and stop him?"

"Exercise will be good for him. I trained all the way up until my labor for both of my own, and all turned out well," a shrug. Byleth tickles the nose of the infant dozing in her arms.

"It's true, with Suri her water broke right on the sands and everything. She still finished her swings for the day."

The king of Faerghus groans, his predicament growing with every second inside the belly of his mate -- "Perhaps Felix and the professor should have just gotten mated."

Sylvain drops the ham. "Hey, don't even _joke_ about that, that's hot."

Just like old times, the table erupts in mirth and laughter far enough that even Felix could hear it down the hall. Surely they're scolding Sylvain for some slight, the professor and Claude are scheming together, and the moments ticking by are going unnoticed.

But he feels them. With every step and every word it looms in his mind -- _perhaps it will be red_ \-- and the tea in his stomach turns sour as he passes the training grounds.

He'd never wanted to be Queen. When Dimitri had asked to mate him in the ancient Faerghus tradition -- gotten on his knees and given him a fur and a dagger -- he'd been too struck by stupidity and the heat in his cheeks to stop and think about what it all meant. The mate of a King was a Queen. To be Dimitri's mate was to be _Queen._

And if the whole country finds out they've been fucking Sylvain he couldn't care less, so long as they clutched their pearls and whispered their profanities out of his earshot. But Dimitri.

He hadn't been hurt, hadn't been angry at the table. He'd been afraid. The one legacy his father -- hell, the one legacy _Felix's_ father left him was in jeopardy.

And Felix wouldn't forgive himself if Dimitri had to abandon that legacy for him.

All of these thoughts swirl in the inkpot before him while he dips his quill in it a little too long, dabbing it loudly to the beat of his fears until they manage to organize into sentences, a little coherent. Some of his father's writing skills may still be in him, yet.

He begins scribbling.

Destination:  
 _General Mathilde_  
Fraldarius Regional Army Barracks  
Urgent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am so extremely sorry this took so long, I am a depressed pile of garbage and I have no other excuses. I can't begin to apologize enough.
> 
> I'm hoping now maybe I can try to update stuff more. I swear I haven't forgotten about y'all, or moved to a new fandom or anything.
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment or a kudo.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a sour note in Sylvain's stomach the day Dimitri came to him in the castle. It sat there wrong and cold, like icy alcohol dipping into a warm stomach, because the instant Dimitri knocked -- a whisper of knuckles on wood signifying that it was in fact the King himself -- Sylvain knew why.

And he'd only been to the castle on business.

After Dimitri and Felix had their mating ceremony, (with Sylvain himself serving as Felix's only bride-knight and trying unsuccessfully the entire evening to wipe the scowl off the omega's face) he'd steered clear. Letters were succinct, visits were short. And even more so as Winter approached and Felix's heat loomed.

If there were a newsletter capable of being distributed all over the United Fodlan, it would joyously read of every impending moment on its front cover. Sylvain didn't need a newsletter, even as far away as Gautier -- between Ingrid's letters and Dimitri's he knew every moment of the poor Queen's manic preparations, down the Fraldarius-emblem blankets he'd made up his nest with. He could only imagine the frenzy the staff and lords were likely working themselves into closer to the epicenter.

"Come in," he'd beckoned, and forced the smile to his face and the image from his head. His two best friends were mated and soon to be tied together in the most… _visceral_ way possible. How could he not be happy?

Dimitri was enormous in the small chair set aside for him. He rubbed his fingers together like he used to do when they were students and a test was being passed out; beneath his cape, like he thought that kept everyone from seeing the noble facade cracking at the edges. 

"What can I help you with, your high-- ah, your majesty?"

 _"Please_ just use my name," He pleaded, and Sylvain shrugged.

"It's my duty, isn't it? To address you properly. Or I could say Dimitri Alexandre Lambert Loogson --"

"Please! I can't possibly ask for bedroom advice from someone who calls me that. It isn't right." A sympathetic look was what Sylvain was going for, but he might have let it slip a little -- Dimitri frowned at him, all the more severe with the plain black eyepatch he still chose to wear. " _Please_ , Sylvain."

"Well, at least you came to the right place, Dimitri," he finally said with a sigh, and like a cat awarded a pan of milk Dimitri relented, an eager smile on his face. "I assume you're worried about the heat?"

"How did you --" Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, thankful that he'd shut the door behind himself, "How did you know he was going into heat?"

Deadpan. Stare. Sylvain set his pen down and used his suddenly free hand to rub his temple. "He had heats back in the academy days, remember?"

"Yes, but…"

The estrus chambers were down by the greenhouse -- and the professor, in all her worldly ways, was entirely used to such things being just a part of life for everyone and not something that most nobles preferred to not acknowledge. Other teachers made whatever excuses were necessary to keep the students away from that section of the school; Byleth marched everyone right on in, straight-faced as ever, to give lectures on medicinal herbs and making potions while Felix made sounds like a cock-hungry wild fox thirty feet and one thin wooden wall away.

It wasn't something one forgot easily. And since then the first and last cold chill of Faerghus winter always brought with it the promise that Felix's time was looming, like terrible natural clockwork every 6 months. "It's -- just forget about that. Did you have a specific question?"

"Well..." the fingers went at it again. Sylvain sipped at his tea -- cold -- and tried to bite back his patience as it waned. There were times when Dimitri's sheltered modesty was endearing, absolutely, but for one reason or another he didn't have the stomach for it that night, as earnest as it was. "It won't -- I mean, you've had an omega in heat, haven't you?"

 _No._ "Of course," Sylvain answered easily. He'd had more than plenty of omegas in his time, that wasn't a lie, but running the risk of bonding or Goddess forbid breeding any of them was borderline _nauseating._ More tea only made it worse.

"It won't hurt him if he uses a preventative tea, will it?"

"A preventative tea? Like one of those that'll keep him from getting pregnant?"

"... Yes." So ashamed. A picture of the perfect Goddess follower, head bowed in guilt. Sylvain tried not to laugh --

"No. I don't think so. Did someone say it would?"

"Well, one of my advisors said that if he -- if we don't conceive, or at least try to, then we can't bond properly. And I'd never want to hurt Felix."

As if Felix wasn't the one far more likely to hurt his mate. Sylvain rested his elbow on his desk, chin in his palm. "I think it should be fine. Infertile couples bond, don't they? Gay ones too,"

Dimitri nodded then, the approval suddenly lighting a new twinkle in his eyes. "Yes -- I suppose they do."

"Still though," and his candle was getting low then, a dim signal that it was almost bedtime. He shut the book he'd kept open to the side, fought the urge to sigh again. "It's surprising to hear you don't want any pups. Heirs are usually top priority, aren't they?"

"Well, I do want some, just -- not now. And Felix is terrified of the whole notion."

Something he _probably_ should have considered before accepting the proposal, Sylvain thought, and as strange as it sounded it made perfect sense that the omega who had singlehandedly faced down wyvern knights and former classmates alike with a stern frown and a tight grip on his sword would be afraid of having children.

Dimitri had hit his feet while Sylvain was lost in thought. "Thank you," he'd said softly, and Sylvain had flashed him his best smile.

"Don't worry about it. Just do your best, okay Dima?"

The king paused in the doorway, seeming broad beyond its trim. "You haven't called me that in years," he said, and ran his fingers along the fur of his cape.

"Yeah, it's about time I brought it back I think."

\--

"I'm no fool," Dimitri said from across a sea of pillows, embroidered with countless tiny emblems in gold and silver thread -- "Did you think I didn't know then that you loved Felix?" that wry smile was out of place on such an innocent face, the little sheltered boy having finally begun to grow into a man when no one was looking.

"He wasn't the only one I loved," Sylvain said back, and pressed their foreheads together.

Felix, firmly huddled in the valley of blankets beneath them, grumbled his disapproval. "It's too damn late for all this mushy talk. Shut up."

And in the warm Summer night they did, tangled so tightly they were one.

\--

"I never meant anything by it," Osian says, the mere thought bringing him offense.

At the king's side Ashe crosses his arms -- it's only cute because Dimitri knows the little omega he used to be, squeaky and shy and with an inexplicable crush on Dedue. He has grown into his own now, a knight like he always wanted, and the fire in his green eyes is dangerous like the spells he wields. "What _did_ you mean, then?"

"The Queen himself has stated that he feels he is not suited for statecraft -- not that that is bad, mind you, I relish having a fresh opinion at council." A laugh that no one believes rings out in the silence and is allowed to die there. "I only meant that the future is a mystery, and I for one look forward to it. Don't you?"

"But that's a strange thing to say out of the blue, isn't it?" Sylvain says, reclining in his chair.

"No," Osian says firmly back, "I'd say it's all the stranger to pull a lord who is ever loyal to the crown into a dark room and interrogate him as if I have committed a crime!" Dimitri falters, his mouth slightly open but saying nothing. His fingers tug at his cape and Sylvain is the only one to notice, eyes flicking back to the Lord in the chair before them. "Besides, I must satisfy my _own_ curiosity," Osian continues, and his tone is a brick in Sylvain's gut, "What are you even doing here, Margrave? Do you, perhaps, have some involvement in this that I'm unaware of?"

Sylvain leans forward, eyes focused like a cat, "My friend, our nation is young. A unified Fodlan was only a dream a few years ago, but here we are living it in reality. As someone who cares deeply for that union, I expressed my interest in why you would have upset the Queen so purposefully."

"I never meant to upset him. My apologies --"

"Are worthless here," Sylvain smiles, "The Queen is absent, in case you couldn't tell. And furthermore -- I am _not_ finished." Ever grinning he interrupts Osian when he opens his mouth, holding up his hand, "Furthermore, I ask what _you_ have to gain here. Accusations such as the ones you've made would deeply offend so many people."

"Faerghus and the former Adrestian Empire both take serious issue with the notion," Dimitri crosses his arms, "Royalty having pups outside of matelock is expressly forbidden in every nation -- there's a reason we have previously required a Blaiddyd crest to take the throne of Faerghus."

Dimitri sees the look in Sylvain's eyes become pained, and immediately hits himself inside. He should have just let him do the talking from the start.

"I would never accuse the Queen of doing such a thing," Osian says, and Ashe huffs.

"Excellent," Sylvain responds, all charm turned on once more, "As an alpha who loves our new nation, I'm sure you would never want to sow discontent -- something like this coming to light could start _quite_ the riot."

"Indeed, it could." Osian replies.

Dimitri, with the others all looking to him, clears his throat. "Well, that is all. You may go now, Lord Osian."

He does. And the instant the door is shut, Dimitri inhales, "Sylvain, please listen, I didn't --"

Sylvain stands. "No, you should listen. You're the king now, the king of all of a United Fodlan. People will live and die by your decrees long after you and I and that ass out there are all dead -- have you even thought about it? What will you do if the baby is yours and isn't crested at all?"

"I don't know, I -- suppose it couldn't inherit the throne, then," Dimitri stammers, looks down at his papers. His knuckles are white as he fidgets, his arms shaking. "I already risk a _revolution_ in doing this, Sylvain. A three-way mating? Have you ever even heard of such a thing? Just quelling all the, the questions, the _confusion_ \-- we're risking everything as it is."

Sylvain goes for the door. "Wait," the king murmurs.

And Sylvain gives him that same smile, easy, distant, and it hits Dimitri like a kick in the gut, "Your majesty?"

He hangs his head. "Nevermind. You're excused."

Sylvain shuts the door softly and vanishes, Ashe breaking his knightly vigil to rest a reassuring hand on the convex of Dimitri's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I've dropped Kinktober, after my dog passed away I've just lost the will to do much. Somehow I scribbled this thing out today, so here you go.
> 
> As always I welcome all your thoughts, questions etc. This work isn't perfect, my timeline is dumb and doesn't make sense, you were warned.
> 
> My Twitter is [@LadySavrola](https://mobile.twitter.com/LadySavrola)  
> Please consider leaving a comment or a kudo.


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